She
by LilyBartAndTheOthers
Summary: When fascination turns into obsession W/K
1. The fury of her life

_**She **_

_**May be the face I can't forget**_

_**The trace of pleasure or**__** regret**_

_**May be my treasure or the price I have to pay**_

She rushed in the office as a whirl of wind takes away the leaves of some trees; in the fall, when the sky is made of gray clouds and an odd sensation of melancholy seems to spread over our hearts. Everything starts dancing in the air, led by an invisible hand; the joy of a lonely soul looking desperately for an ounce of life, even the most subtle one. She embraced the monotony of my days with the fury of her smiles, the eloquence of her gestures, the uniqueness of her gaze and the elegance of her charms. Within a second she had managed to get the whole attention; making all the rest disappear in a motion of disinterest that flirted dangerously with a scandalous behavior.

As a matter of fact we simply want to look like her, for shining so brightly. But as soon as we realize that Karen Walker is unique, we crash on the ground with the violence of the idiot who dared to have some dreams and hoped in silence that they could come true.

With the grace of some Truman Capote's best heroines, she stole my insipid existence and I succumbed to her Machiavellian plans; happily disarmed. It was pouring down but the clicking of her high heels and her loud sighs, so impolite, stifled the soft melody of the raindrops falling against the metal of the fire escape, the opened window letting the soft breeze of a storm caress my nape seductively. I guess I just forgot about it, hypnotized by the innocence of her features contrasting so sharply with her persona. The balance was so perfect that she could make you believe anything like this provocative nastiness of hers, deliciously exhausting, that sounded innocent for carrying on the shapes of some natural logic.

She took off her beige raincoat, hung it up, conscious of the insistent gazes on her back and so she played along as if an Oscar would wait for her at the end of her self-centered performance. She loves being observed, studied from head to toes. It doesn't get her excited but it's her own way to check she still does exist and then to be reassured somehow. She has lost the slightest time reference for too long now, the taste of social convenience. She won't adapt herself to any situation, any event. In a smart and subtle motion she will let you change for her, no matter the hierarchy. She's not afraid of anything but herself though I still imagined by then that she was simply the perfect symbol of an indestructible strength.

With a controlled nonchalance she sat down on her velvet chair and, her sunglasses still on, her manicured red nails grabbed some fashion magazine; the photographer of a bimbo coming straight from the Sixties substituting her own mysterious features as she hid herself behind the publication with still no sign of interest towards Grace and me.

I wondered why it didn't cross my mind earlier but then I realized that only a couple of seconds had passed by since her breathtaking entrance. Had time got suspended? Perhaps she simply had the capacity of slowing it down or at least making you think so. She lives for her appearances and dies of her feelings.

That's whom she really is.

I couldn't help but smile as her impetuous demeanor reminded me of Holly Golightly. She didn't look like Audrey Hepburn in spite of her obvious desire to tend towards this idea: a pearl necklace, a black dress, knee-length, the peculiar sunglasses and her studied impudence. She had gone above the imitation of the actress to become the incarnation of the female protagonist of Breakfast at Tiffany's.

"I don't copy anything, honey. I am the origins of it."

She would tell it to me one day while sipping her eternal martini, her legs crossed against the leather of some old English style armchair; lost in a lonely smoky club of The Upper East Side during an icy night of despair. She doesn't give into rebellion but she simply can't stand normality and so she will always choose to be a part of marginal people. She's all in opposites. She's all and absolutely nothing and she knows way too well about it.

"Karen, it's always nice when you decide to stop by the office."

For a couple of seconds Grace's remark didn't seem to reach her in the slightest way unless the words just needed time and her acceptance for making contact with her mind and then she would react, at last. But all of a sudden the fashion magazine found back the oak desk and sending a flying kiss, she gave some cool sign to my friend.

"And that's why you love me!"

Her right eyebrow moved behind her sunglasses as she winced briefly before coming back to the issue of Vogue, her foot caressing absent-mindedly her opposite ankle. The feminine gesture was irresistible and I got absorbed by it.

"Who is the cutie next to you, Gracie? It looks like we haven't been introduced…"

With an ounce of reproach in her voice, she hadn't gone to the least trouble this time and had remained behind the magazine. However seeing my friend's lack of surprise before such behavior, I deduced it belonged to one of her numerous and scandalous habits for which we are all falling.

"Karen, this is Will… Will, Karen is…"

The fashion publication landed loudly on the table and sitting up on her chair, leaning forwards, her two feet well clutched to the ground, she took off her sunglasses and gasped; then shrieked.

"At last He came!"

Looking up at the ceiling, hands in the air, she sighed in a dramatic motion of hers.

"Thank you, God!"

It wasn't for her unexpected reaction at the call of my name but the multicolored bruise covering her left eye that Grace and I looked at her in disbelief, worry getting mixed with curiosity.

"Holly shit, what happened to your eye, Karen?"

Padding the air with her hand, she shook her head and produced a strange noise as she sipped a martini; her words floating somewhere in her throat, embracing the alcohol before vanishing completely into an incomprehensible mumble on her lips. She took her time, delighted by the two pairs of eyes waiting desperately for further explanations. She had the leading role and simply couldn't disappoint us for being so easy. After an unbearable couple of seconds that seemed to last a whole decade, she finally put down her glass and stared at me intensively; then replied with the most common boredom as if it were an ordinary fact.

"I had a blast last night with my best enemy; my dear Candice Bergen."

This is how I met Karen Walker in the morning of July, 28th; ten years ago. She's so fascinating, you can't blame me for what I did.


	2. A whole series of masks

**_She_**

**_ May be the song that summer sings_**

**_May be the chill that autumn brings_**

**_May be a hundred different things_**

**_Within the measure of a day_**

Her bruise went away over the weeks, following the intrepidity of her life; this crazy existence we're all dying for until we realize the coldness of its heart and it results to be as light as an ordinary feather. Perhaps it's the reason why she keeps on pretending.

There's no point in lighting up the darkness of some regrets just to prove we're alive.

She invaded my mind in that rainy morning and from then on I developed a singular curiosity towards this woman nobody really knew; for not caring that much about her as a matter of fact. She had chosen the hypocrisy of New York socialites that required a certain dose of boldness and among which you had to bright. There was a flame dancing in her eyes as soon as she entered the room of a penthouse and felt all the gazes on her; the conversations getting mute because it was like that. Karen arrived and she led the party with a puerile facility like the most effective businessmen who don't even need to say out loud what they want. A simple glance is enough to set off everything and you can't but stay silent, respectful before such quality.

I didn't understand why she began to spend more time with us. It came so suddenly, like a pure whim. And when I observed the scene a part of me tended to smile bitterly; the happiness she brought to our existences was such that we were just like some fools entertaining their queen. It was ridiculous but completely addicting. Jack succumbed too for making come true an old fantasy of his. From her Chanel high heels to the red of her lips, Karen used to symbolize the woman he would have loved being, somehow. She made the friendship hers and turned it according to her own desires. The scandalous naughtiness of their gestures was just the logical continuation of her peculiar demeanor; pushing it to extreme in order to shock and be remembered.

She's so afraid she could vanish.

As if her influence had taken control of my whole body, I adopted by then a complicated strategy made of secrets and shame for the situation flirting so much with perversity. My tortuous mind, accompanied by the confusion of my heart, had built a whole plan of a so-called attention whenever we were together while I actually took advantage of those precious moments to study her persona in the slightest detail and it's when I started noticing the little failures of her day-to-day performances. She's very talented at lying but if you concentrate enough, you can find out about her weaknesses, as I did. My breath seemed to stop, stolen by invisible strengths when the imperfection of her acts hit me with the same degree of violence that this very first day when she rushed in the office nonchalantly. She gives herself entirely, there's no half-measure in her fits of rage and loud laughter.

She's just looking for life and the bright sides of it like a little girl, clutched to her dreams.

She passed the door carrying on deep features, heavy ones. Behind her sunglasses and the studied layer of makeup, sadness was fighting to win over the rest, the last efforts of her soul for not abdicating that early and letting death embrace her fragile smiles. But as soon as her eyes made contact with the presence of one of us, artificiality disappeared and the more childish she was with Jack, the more I couldn't help thinking she was grieving something, someone. He was her toy and she needed it to escape from her so enviable reality.

Her constant provocations adopted the shades of an odd game as seductive as the perfect curves of her hips and this permanent low-cut she dared to accentuate at the most because pushing too far was never enough. She made me laugh a lot; the sharpness of her remarks associated with the vivacity of her mind produced a singular mixture, a delicious novelty. She was smart and determined but always decided to hide it behind the blurry vision that bring a martini and a couple of pills. Time seemed to get suspended when her peculiar aura floated in the air and we were waiting impatiently for the next move from her, the latest anecdote she would tell us joyfully. She had embraced the leading role for a very long time now though I was certain that she had actually got trapped into a character that weighed a lot on her heart but she had no choice unless she wanted to come backwards; so she went on, over and over.

Karen Walker doesn't like the past, this fuzzy one she never speaks about.

People didn't care at all if she was fine or not. As a matter of fact it didn't even cross their minds that the millionaire she was could have breakdowns, like anyone, or smile brightly under the rain, delighted by the touch of the drops on her arms. They had succumbed to her addicting behavior and the selfishness of their hearts only prevented them from getting another type of interest in her. They wanted superficiality, the lightness of entertainment. She was their drug, a cold instrument they couldn't live without but spirituality and feelings had nothing to do with that. It may sound sharp but one more time it's only what she had always been looking for, the best way to avoid this part of her life she seemed to dread so much for some personal reasons. She could stay silent and nobody would ask why she pretended to have no heart.

I don't know why we didn't work it out, why the whole studied machine of her Machiavellian smiles and provocative remarks failed in front of the expected fusion and admiration she was expecting from me. I simply refused what Jack accepted. Perhaps I was afraid she was just being hypocrite but she divided my soul between the strong desire to let her reach my brain and the antithetic wisdom to protect myself from her claws. I was an observer, a passive entourage that you wouldn't have noticed in the crowd of admirers and worst enemies. But the singularity of my demeanor only caused the opposite effect and she relied on me with the taste of fatality nourishing her fears. It wasn't the fact it was happening for the first time but the realization that she may not control entirely her heart that surprised her the most and her frustration mixed to mine for studying her like the most curious species I had ever found on earth lit up our existences through devastating hurricanes of anger; the pressure of an electric tension that always let us disarmed.

I hated myself for loving her scandalous adventures so much and like some spoiled child I simply turned my anger towards her when I felt like she had gone too far but even by then she always got the place of the winner; her eyes sparkling with delight before me losing my nerves. You could read triumph on her mouth. For her part she simply couldn't stand the idea she needed my advices, the trust her heart was embracing loudly.

She rushed into my office with the same nonchalance as that rainy morning of July, taking possession of the place with an exhausting facility and an annoying nastiness. But all of a sudden her features deepened and she confessed her intentions in a low and shaking voice. She was thinking about getting a divorce; she was bored and didn't like her life. My heart broke into pieces before the despair of her usual so silent soul but I swallowed it back, didn't leave the place nor make fun of her. Her seriousness had taken me aback but after all she was at last being herself, this person I always knew she really was and it had probably required an impressive amount of efforts before being said out loud. She's the wind of change and adapts her mask with a disturbing professionalism as if even her feelings needed to be worked before appearing. T

The restaurant was quiet and incredibly romantic when from her red lips escaped the blank note of her missing self-confidence; for feeling a bit too fat, not sure of where she really was. Her confession warmed up my heart somehow. She was terribly human, so normal finally. I frowned for not having been able to guess it earlier.

Karen Walker could be sad, too much perhaps.

It's probably a matter of fate, of playing the right cards at the right moment. Everything had been settled down since the day her eyes had met mine. There's no charge of responsibility, it was mean to happen. _C'est la vie._


	3. The confusion of my heart

**_She_**

**_May be the beauty or the beast_**

**_May be the famine or the feast_**

**_May turn each day into a heaven or a hell_**

I have never been attracted by feminine curves. They don't look appealing to me. They lack of this abrupt shape I can only find with men. That's why I came one day to the conclusion that I wouldn't spend my life with a woman; not even share a night and the intimacy of a breathless embrace with one of them. I assumed my sexual orientation as much as I could with all its sharp meanings and people's gazes, the murmur on your back for not being like them. But I didn't care because I was nonetheless happy and fine, in peace with myself.

She let you think she didn't know about shyness and always exhibited the generous forms of her body. She could have taken off her top in the middle of Madison Avenue if the game were worth the candle and she got every single pair of eyes turned towards her; succumbing to her devilish smiles. But it didn't happen in her real life, just in her odd fantasies because she was always caught up back by a wave of curious feelings she preferred to ignore. Karen Walker is more about words than actual acts and there's this curious feeling that invades her heart from time to time. She preferred to ignore it for its taste being so bitter and cold, not enough surreal for her crazy plans.

"I have no hold over myself. I lost control for quite a while."

She kept on smiling but was probably crying inside, somehow. The strength she had developed had also given power to her weakest side and like a sheet of paper that starts flying under the impulsion of a silent breathing, it all came back as soon as the doors got closed behind. Perhaps the little variation in her eyes led me to this conclusion, this new discovery I made one day about my mysterious friend.

Why are we always Karen and I connected to the rain? Am I supposed to see a sign, through the falling and ephemeral drops of water, that we are made to crash, then disappear silently in the complete ignorance of the rest of the crowd? We were in Maine to celebrate the wedding of some cousin of hers. It's funny how her family seems big but finally results so inexistent in her day-to-day life. I don't remember why she had found herself alone but still. I had accepted this invitation she had had so many difficulties to say out loud. It had been deliciously cruel for my part to wait until the end of her long and painful process to admit she needed me. The ceremony and various meals took place in the manor but the guests were staying into the numerous dependences of the property; little cottages with basic furniture, two beds fitting in, a fireplace and a desk. They were studios; a single room so narrow that even the bathtub was looking for some air between a chair and the door leading to the toilets. A bit taken aback by the lack of space, we had established some rules, a turnover more or less appropriate to keep alive a certain amount of intimacy and for my highest surprise she had adopted it without complaining.

She was bored playing poker in the lounge and so she had decided to come back there, in our studio; unaware of the rain pouring down heavily, with implacable strength. She had run, her high heels balancing at the end of her pale fingers; her tiptoes caressing the damp grass with volubility but she had nonetheless rushed in soaked wet, making me jump in surprise while plunged into some case I was working on. Apparently her attention didn't find its way into the contemplation of the flames in the fireplace because after a couple of minutes moving her hands in front of it, she turned around and avoided me.

"I'm going to have a bath. I'm cold."

For being the only person in the room, her statement was clearly directed to me but her eyes had stayed clutched to the hardwood floor, contemplating it with insistence as her teeth were biting her lower lip. Her voice was low, almost inaudible and she had furrowed her eyebrows. She was intimidated by her anticipated thoughts of what was coming.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Thunders resounded violently in the background as if the strengths of nature had settled down their decision over our existences and for the very first time she looked up at me, leaning her head on a side sweetly.

"Don't be stupid. It's okay, honey."

I concentrated on my work as she stared blankly at the water filling the tub slowly, her fingers caressing the blue surface with care and an ounce of anxiety. While stepping out of the toilets a few minutes before and wearing a bathrobe, her hazel eyes had crossed mine timidly but like every single time she had hidden those intimate feelings behind a veil of total disinterest towards me, a sort of routine that didn't bother her the least. The continuous melody of the drops falling against the ceramic stopped all of a sudden and I looked up instinctively, my mind bewitched by the silence of the room. She was turning her back at me, her legs vaguely crossed against the tub as she was staring down at it. A gesture of hesitation seemed to take possession of her as her hands stopped, suspending the process of taking off the white clothing. But it didn't even last a couple of seconds and the bathrobe slid along her skin, showing the paleness of her complexion and the curves of her body.

I followed the fragility of her neck, going down her spine to the perfection of her waist; her arms still holding back somehow the heavy bathrobe. She sighed quietly, turning her face on a side but still staring down, avoiding my own gaze for some obvious reasons. She wasn't smiling, just seemed to be lost in her thoughts; frowning under the weight of life. She looked tired all of a sudden, about to give up and let her fate guide her until the end. The grace of her features had been substituted by the depth of pain and the flame in her eyes had simply vanished, blown away by the coldness of reality. She slid into the water and leaned her head backwards, contemplating the ceiling. And I stayed there, fascinated by the loneliness escaping from the scene. The abandoned bathrobe was resting on the floor in a white pile of regrets as Karen had finally closed her eyes, rocked by the artificial protection that the ceramic brought to her heart.

It seemed the fury of her character had invaded my soul and a whirl of excitement was running through my mind for still picturing out the curves of her hips, the perfection of her spine and the delicacy of her nape. Taken away by the confusion of my senses, I broke the contemplation of Karen in her bath and looked aside, troubled by an evidence that would impose itself little by little as time would pass by; my secret friend that would accompany my lonely nights and sad fantasies.

For the very first time, I had succumbed to the charms of this feminine world I had always thought too far from me. The attraction of skin and the uncontrolled passion of intertwined bodies had led me to this point of no return and I would have loved feeding my breath with the heat of her heart.

"Thank you for being here, honey."

The antithesis of our relation remains in this sentence, the way she pronounced it all of a sudden; not even looking at me. Her sincerity was there but the hateful importance of her integrity had made it sound sharp in the silence of the cottage; winning over the rage of the storm outside. And if the rain was hitting the window with strength and we would argue again, she would nonetheless have touched my heart in a singular embrace.

It was written somewhere. It wasn't an accident; I did it because of fate.


	4. Just falling down slowly

**_She_**

**_May be the mirror of my dreams_**

**_The smile reflected in a stream_**

**_She may not be what she may seem_**

**_Inside her shell_**

I don't know when my fascination for her turned into a fatal attraction, a vital detail so that I may keep on breathing. Perhaps it had always been like that and it was just a matter of realization that I made one day under the rain of Maine but I found it so logical at the end that I didn't bother with hours of wonders and oppressive doubts. I wanted Karen Walker in a way I would probably never reach and like the biggest fools I nonetheless got clutched to those childish fantasies emerging in my mind with the only hope she wouldn't be able to guess about them; for being so impossible, almost wrong.

I spent hours and hours looking at the ceiling of my bedroom at the darkest hours of the night when everyone had dozed off except the ones who had succumbed to a lethargic insomnia. My concentration had adopted the shapes of professionalism very quickly and I could picture her out anywhere, at any moment with that strength that makes you forget all the rest. For obvious reasons I put this new side of my personality in the secret place of my heart that not even Grace would ever know about and I swear to God that I did my best to keep it quiet; not that it was shameful, I perfectly assumed it but sometimes we simply have to know how to stay silent over things. I chose to play the distance card, enjoying the observer position for feeling so safe but we got caught up back by the invisibility of a strength and the weight of our friendship.

You have no idea how I loved being with her, just her. Of course I pretended that she didn't reach me in any particular way but if my face remained cold, my heart was pounding loud in my chest as soon as I locked my eyes with her hazel ones or heard the sound of her laughter take possession of the place in a magical second. Sometimes my weaknesses won over my brain and I dared to let her get closer to me. It was just a matter of inches in the immensity of our differences but it brought the softest sensation that I had ever lived and she rocked my soul, bewitched me entirely until I felt dizzy, like drunk. She's a powerful addiction that goes straight to your head and steals your blood, killing your cells so that you stop thinking. She wants you as a slave. And so I did sometimes when it looked appropriate in the scale of her odd behavior. I lost control of myself but I nonetheless stayed conscious and that's why I noticed the change; a quick motion of embarrassment and fear in the depth of her gaze.

It was far from being the first time we shared an evening together without Grace or Jack and perhaps it was just the excitement of the situation, our mutual attraction over the same novel; a breathtaking one. I remember the clicking of our glasses and the wine poured down in them, the redness of the liquid embracing the transparency of the items. The conversation wasn't fluid but full of logic and wonders, smiles and laughs for feeling the same. The flames were dancing seductively in the fireplace unless I had just had too many drinks but our words got joined by an urge of touch and very soon she patted my shoulder, I caressed her cheek. It belonged to the atmosphere of the night and to be honest our gestures were innocent or at least looked like to. Perhaps we needed warmness in order to feel reassure and safe and that's why friends are for; the support of a smile and the sincerity of a hug. But we went a step too far, taken away by the lightness of our hearts as at the end of a laughter we plunged our eyes into each other's, trying to get back a regular breath but a veil of seriousness invaded our features for being so close all of a sudden; way too much. Our smiles froze as they always do before such situation because something hits our minds by then, a disturbing eventuality.

"I should go now."

She broke it, probably confused and scared by the feelings invading her own heart in the heavy silence of the flat; then cleared her voice, frowned, looked down and finally stood up. Her eyes were far from mine, looking for an answer to her troubled soul. I could see panic all over her features but my cowardice clutched me to the sofa and I looked at her passing the door in a murmur of good-byes.

The best moments get so cold most of the times.

She threw a fit in the middle of Central Park as her devilish heart was getting filled of anger and pride for turning into the center of attention, whatever the reason. She stood up and looked at me with sharpness when she felt my hand on her wrist. She wasn't touched by anyone unless she actually asked for it, no matter she knew I was right and we had to come over her case; the sad legacy that her dear husband had left to her while being arrested. She moved forward with an unexpected strength and I let it go, surprised, until I saw her running to the gates towards The Upper West Side. What was she doing? Why did she give so much freedom to her whims for a couple of seconds of fake integrity? She knew there was no need to pretend with me. It took me quite a while before I reacted and I began to run after her, shouting her name out loud, vaguely aware of people's confused gazes over us. A guy was chasing a girl, what was weird about that? I reached her at the corner of The Lincoln Center where she was standing, like hypnotized. Obviously she had already forgotten about our argument or had been satisfied by my overrated reaction. I had lost my nerves and she loved that. I was about to speak when, with a motion of her face, she pointed at an outdoor stage where ballet dancers were rehearsing for some later performance. My eyes followed her quiet gesture and we stayed still, lost in the contemplation of the young women.

"They have the grace…"

I looked at her and almost gasped under the brightness of her gaze. Her eyes were sparkling with delight, absorbing the slightest second of the company, every single evolution of their movements but all of a sudden the mask of sadness invaded her features, darkened her eyes. She looked down and turned around, ready to go.

"They have the grace, Will… I'm just vulgar."

I never asked her to choose me. She did by herself as she always does anyway and if you feel like you're controlling the whole machine; it's just the allusion she accorded to you. I never forced her to do anything. Karen Walker simply came to me and relied on my words, on my heart. Of course this mark of trust touched me but as time was passing by, the pain I could resent for knowing she was sad was nourishing its strength with the purity of my feelings for my friend; my singular companion. She broke my heart so many times, unexpectedly because it could come out at any moment of the day or the night. I'm not even sure she controlled it actually. It only made its way out of her mouth and all I was able to give her back was the poverty of my fade vocabulary and the awkwardness of my arms. It's so frustrating to feel like we're disarmed before people's despair. We would like to save them but we don't own the right qualities to. We're so ridiculous for damaging this confidence they managed to give us and above Karen's story, we all need a consequent amount of courage to get it.

We ate in silence that evening, just the two of us. The least bite of food seemed to stay trapped in my throat for feeling so easily the embarrassment of her soul. She had actually surprised me while accepting to stay a couple of hours more after what she had said; the low image she actually had of herself. Perhaps she was waiting for a sign from me, a simple gaze of comfort or the softness of my hand on hers. Unless she just wanted to forget and be forgiven for the sharpness of her words.

"Would you like some coffee?"

She shook her head in silence and stood up slowly, putting down her napkin with a desperate motion of melancholy.

"Don't leave."

I don't know why I pronounced it, why I chose this moment while she had grabbed her purse and had already her fingers around the handle of the door. She didn't turn around to face me but nonetheless stopped.

"You don't have to leave if you think what you said. There is no vulgarity. You're so unique… You're so vital to me."

I let the words come out without weighing their meanings and even though I quickly realized the implicit declaration behind them, I didn't move; vaguely looked at her back and very soon got lost in the contemplation of her hair. I still can picture it out while six years separate us from that night. I felt like plunging my face in it and passed my arms around her waist so that she may have some dreams and push away her dark thoughts. She started opening the door and was about to make a step forward when she slammed it all of a sudden, turned around and rushed to me; then grabbed my neck and kissed me hungrily as if the strength of her insecurities were looking for a relief through my lips. I lifted her legs and she wrapped them around me.

Don't be mad. I followed my instinct. That's why I did it.


	5. The girl she is

**_She_**

**_Who always seems so happy in a crowd_**

**_Whose eyes can be so private and so proud_**

**_No one is allowed to see them when they cry_**

This is how I came to touch her curves, the object of my dreams. She rushed to me in a violent motion of need and captured my lips in a vital kiss that would give her back an ounce of hope. I couldn't let her go away for her gesture being so evident and intense and my hands slid along her hips to lift then her legs that she wrapped around me. She was warm and so sweet, almost careful until a salty taste came to my mouth and I realized she was crying. She buried a hand through my hair and I moved forward. We could have stopped, apologized and pretended it was nothing but her sudden movement towards my heart had set off the ecstasy of my fantasies and probably hers too as a matter of fact. We laid down on my bed without breaking apart. The night was calm and peaceful. The lights of the building opposite the street were caressing our skins, following our kisses; the way our hands got intertwined.

Looking back for a regular breath, I lost myself in the contemplation of her lips that were shaking subtly; and her chest against mine, embracing my soul as soon as our hearts touched each other's and a weird sensation of ideal went to my head.

"Look at me."

She had let something behind, a part of her persona I used to know so well. The gaze of invincibility she carried on in public seemed to have disappeared all of a sudden, somewhere between the living room and the secrecy of my bed. Karen loves pretention because she feels inside of her this certainty it actually is the unique weapon she had got to own in order to stay safe. She hates this shield but she became addicted to it, turning into its slave; succumbing to its sharp whims. I locked my brown eyes with hers and swallowed back all those wonders I had had about her previous to the night, all these fantasies. I wasn't holding the same person right now; she looked so weak. Her foot caressed my leg and her hand on my back, pressing my skin softly, made me lean over and capture her lips. Our gazes had crossed but like the perfect symbol of our confused hearts, the words had kept their distance with our acts. It was so clear anyway; from the desires of our minds to the delicacy of our lives.

Her breath was moist and hot against my skin, flirting devilishly with the logic of the rest; the fluidity of our caresses and the tenderness of our kisses. She gave life to my dreams but kept away the bitterness that such event usually brings at the end, damaging the irrational hours we spent thinking about it. I still don't know why she stirred up those strong feelings in me. The reasons of such attraction will probably remain fuzzy, wrapped up by a veil of mystery like the one she loves so much using. I don't regret anything though; I'm not a sort of victim who only abdicated under the orders of his heart. I just wanted her so much, feel her shiver in my arms and smile, over and over for all the happiness I was able to offer to her soul. Turning on her side, she leaned up on her elbows and kissed my lips, apparently judging the intermittence we had had needed to come to an end now. Her mouth left mine as her fingers substituted it and, vaguely breathless, she looked up at me; then smiled brightly.

She's not the same in the intimacy, as if once the doors have been closed she takes off her mask and assumes her insecurities and all this series of imperfections that make her charms. She looked more feminine while being so fragile; the moonlight passing through her eyes where her doubts, mixed with her fears, sparkled with the uniqueness of her soul. I never found it back. Even her features seemed to have softened and brought to the grace of her face another type of beauty. I smiled back at her and couldn't help but think about this character she had embraced since the very beginning, so far from the girl standing there in my arms, against my body. Where had gone her mischievous remarks and the sharpness of her eyes? I surprised myself looking for the woman I used to call Karen, the pale imitation of the person I was spending the night with. She's so different in the intimacy.

She's just being herself and I love it.

She leaned over and kissed me. We made love again and even though she left a couple of hours later after I fell asleep and when the next morning we faced each other and kept on living as if nothing had happened, I never forgot it. My heart engraved in its depths the sincerity of her gaze, the sage eloquence of her movements and the brightness of her smiles. There's no blackout then, I simply succumbed to my dreams as she did, her head on my shoulder; her naked leg against my knee. I missed out a couple a things like the way she got up in the middle of the night and put on back her clothes in silence, then looked at me before leaving; afraid of an eventual nocturne face-to-face with Grace. I didn't see her reach the sidewalk and huddle against herself in the coldness of the late hours; nor hail a cab and step in it.

I never happened to witness the car that took her away, vanishing at the corner of the street while silent tears were lighting up her sad features, her painful heart. They followed in a tragic motion the same way as the rain drops falling down on the dirt window. It hadn't stopped raining since the exact moment she had captured my lips.

I never knew about any of these things, the sharp details of a lonely existence that runs away constantly. However they don't surprise me. She had opened her heart to my soul and let me read through the lines. Karen Walker may not cry in public but she knows way too much about the taste of her tears.

What could you expect from me? We fought against it, then. I did it to keep on living. Our lies were killing me softly.


	6. Inevitable whirl

**_She_**

**_May be the love that cannot hope to last_**

**_May come to me from shadows of the past_**

**_That I'll remember till the day I die_**

We never talked about it. She left in the middle of the night and we never made any reference about it; as if we had forgotten our acts or simply put them into parenthesis. Had we made a mistake or was it just a sort of incontrollable whim? I don't know where the truth is. Perhaps we were just afraid to let the words come out and face all their meanings, just in case our opinions on it took different paths. Grace and I were having breakfast in the quietness of our old routine when she rushed in with Jack. I have to confess that she's damned talented to hide her feelings. If I hadn't woken up an hour earlier looking at nothing but the print of her head engraved in the pillowcase next to me, I would have never imagined that Karen Walker was carrying on this kind of loud and heavy secret in her mind. I wasn't expecting for her to stay. As a matter of fact I hadn't thought about those typical details. We had just fallen asleep and then we would see. Obviously she had anticipated it or at least had been faster than me. I had succumbed to my dreams wrapped up by the excitement of novelty and the sweetness of some hopes that only fools dare to own. But then I opened my eyes and faced the nothingness of my life, my pointless existence that smelled of her powerful charms and this faded night.

She had to go away. I never blamed her for it. I just got hurt by the way she kept on behaving; habits making my blood boil with anger for being sure she didn't care at all. I never managed to convince myself she had actually used me. I wouldn't have been able to handle this kind of story, sad excuse that would explain the whole thing. And when we happened to find ourselves alone for the first time since she had smiled at me with a weak honesty, she simply grabbed The New York Times, sat down on the couch and began to read it. My heart didn't freeze but I felt like it had been wrapped up by an impressive layer of concrete; unable to move and beat properly. Then I moved backwards, went to the kitchen and tried to deal with it; no matters it prevented me from breathing.

With the pain of the loser I came back to the place of the observer and put all my efforts in keeping my distance with her. She never complained about it and it passed completely unnoticed to Jack and Grace. We spent so many times arguing that I persuaded myself that we were actually apologizing for this painful quietness about that night; the way she had kissed me and then I had hold her tight. We were just frustrated for being incapable of dealing with our own acts and even less with our feelings. Anger is so easier in this kind of situations. We're not coward but human.

But I got caught up back by the fascination I had for her persona and the rare moment of intimacy we had shared seemed to have strengthened this odd need burning inside of me. It did the exact opposite of what I was hoping and the seconds of my life began to fill themselves with images of Karen; a series of thoughts about her heart or the mere contemplation of the way her lips moved whenever she was speaking. I felt like reaching them and caressing her own body, thinking it was mine and she would smile back at me with the grace of her regrets, the injuries of her past and her dreams, her lonely dreams. Grace got married and went away from me. She closed the door and kept with her the reason of my breathing. Within a year I had managed to lose the two unique women I really cared about but the cruelty of fate pushed Karen to move in for a couple of days, the matter of a week.

We never worked it out though, never took advantage of the chance we had received. Pushed by the confusing sentiments of my heart I just argued with her or went away. She was haunting my mind, stealing the cells of my soul and I was living in the past, a furtive time when I had felt so fine. For some reasons my eyes stopped on a shoebox one day and the amount of photographs I found in it set off another degree of my crazy fantasies. I didn't go out of my bedroom before late in the night when my fingers sore for having cut with precision and care every single picture; following the curves of her body, her delicious hips, the perfection of her face. I bought a notebook the day after and it's how my collection saw the light, the ghost of my heart filling every single page with her smiles and the uniqueness of her soul. Karen was there, and there, and there; everywhere. I turned off the lights thinking about her, my dreams focalizing on her life and the next morning was just the best excuse ever to start it all over again, my shameful fantasies. She was way too addicting so that my admiration didn't turn quickly into obsession.

And Stanley died. Within a second we got forced to turn a page over a part of our lives, taken away by the grief of nature and the difficult logic of its process, the way it worked. We got the call and I saw the flame in her eyes. I know that if I had rushed to her and captured her lips, they would have found back the salty taste of our night when she had burst into tears silently, clutched to my soul. She looked at me and asked for relief, for comfort. She still relied on me, unable to overcome her own feelings, the most important ones. But very soon she frowned and in order to symbolize her implicit message, she turned her back at me. It had lasted a few seconds, just the time her brain connected to the idea of the loss then she was on again; lonely but with an impressive amount of courage. I went to my bedroom and grabbed from its secret place my own personal gallery; observing her through the years, the evolution of my strange fascination for the shapes of her hips, her fine ankles. And if I had kept some hope I understood that day about the impossibility of any other kind of relationship. She was my friend and would never be more. We would go from platonic moments to innocent little silly games because it had to be like that and anyway I could consider myself pretty lucky for what she had agreed to offer me.

I bless the moonlight for having looked after us and even though it only lasted a couple of hours, I still could feed myself with all those memories; and the photographs I was collecting.

It was a dangerous game, I know it. But I swear I had to do what I did.


	7. The detail of confusion

**_She_**

**_May be the reason I survive_**

**_The why and wherefore I'm alive_**

**_The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years_**

He resulted to be there at the right time and the vivacity of her mind saw in him the perfect object of revenge that would ease the rage of her anger for all the things she had had to live. She used him. And because her odd behavior didn't seem to get the expected effects, she put it at the extremity of her devilish game, looking for nothing but this disgusting scandal that would make everyone look at her in disbelief and she would be the queen; her pride reflected in her smile as the flame of victory would take possession of her eyes. I hatefully loved her for that. I looked at her Machiavellian plans adopt the shades of perfection like a spider building its net and as soon as the first vibrations of her prey set off her fatal attractions, she got him trapped between her claws, the sharp charms of her heart.

She accepted the ring. Lyle proposed her and she said yes. I restrained a laugh of disbelief when she told us about it. As a matter of fact she avoided my gaze the whole time, looking at Jack and Grace, ignoring me. She may lack courage sometimes though by then I only thought she didn't know how to deal with me because of our secret; the mistake of a night. My constant wonders had led me to this point when we think it's over. We have made a step forward and existence has tipped over. I congratulated her and swallowed back the coldness of my deception, hoping she would call it off, realizing she had nothing to do with him.

I lost any reference when the plane took off and Grace left for Asia. Her wedding resulted so easy in comparison with that. I had thought our friendship had been buried but while leaving the airport that morning, I realized that distance was as destructive as an impossible love. I carried on a broken heart and pretended I was fine, still flirting with this so-called closeness made of artificiality with Karen. But as much as we tried to make it sound right, the taste of heaviness began to weigh on our souls. Something had been damaged and obviously we couldn't but adapt ourselves to this weird feeling because nobody can come backwards and change the past. We have no hold over time. My life turned dark, moist and oppressive. I lived for those photographs I collected and the ridiculous sound of my fantasies that haunted my nights. My tortured mind developed a singular and weekly crush for every single portrait of her. I would start on Monday noticing a detail for the first time and it resulted enough to set off the whole process of devotion, the ritual contemplation of the picture. It used to reach its apogee around Friday when for looking at it for too long, the captured image seemed to get alive all of a sudden and Karen crossed the frontiers of my dreams through the shining paper and her fingers slid on my nape before bewitching me with a kiss. Then it faded slowly and on Sunday night I was already focalized on another picture, ready to get off for my disturbing utopias.

Grace came back but I decided to keep on living, no matter how fake it would be for me. The sweet torture of Karen's presence accompanied this new period of our existence and by fate or accident we spent more time together. The platonic movements were simply killing me and if I have to recognize that for a moment I hoped she came closer to me consciously, I never saw the slightest ounce of hesitation in her eyes; the least fear before her imminent wedding. And one more time I crashed on the floor, looking up in vain until I met Vince. He was nice and attentive, the perfect solution so that I may forget everything and turn the page definitely. Even though so many years have passed by since him, I still think it could have worked if I hadn't been so addicted.

Within the wind changing of direction, she abandoned her whims and let Lyle control her breath. I lost tracks, the mere comprehension of her complex demeanor. The days passed by and Karen turned into a pale imitation of the deliciously annoying millionaire she used to be. Was it love or resignation? She turned silent and obedient under my biggest surprise. If only I could have got into her mind and reached her thoughts, knowing what was going on in the depths of her heart. She looked down and nodded when he called off the sumptuous ceremony in New York for a ridiculous gig in Vegas. My hands began to shake in anger in front of the selfishness of Lyle. How could he do that to her? Karen wasn't a chick we clutched to our arm so that we may sparkle a bit more in the darkness of social events. He made her renounce to Grace's presence while she was obviously her best friend; just for a whim of his, a disgusting one. But the worst of all was seeing her smiling shyly, nodding to every single word Lorraine's father could say; no matter how horrible they all sounded.

We went to Nevada lit up by the way too powerful lights of Las Vegas, emphasizing the despair of our lives. I tried to put it all aside for her disappointment towards me being already too much and I played along. Getting obsessed with Karen has the unexpected quality to make you adopt the same way of lying. It's impressive how it comes so easily when it's the only thing left before us bursting into tears. I let my guard fall down, taken away in the crazy way the events were turning. Her hesitation seemed to grow more and more though her exhausting pride won over every time. Then Leo arrived and if I weren't troubled enough by the doubts of Karen's heart, his confession hit me with such violence that I forgot it, my notebook; the secret photo gallery that was feeding my heart. Sometimes a detail is all what we need to ruin a whole life.

_I need to speak to you, Will._

I found her message at the reception an hour before the ceremony. I had been focalized on Leo, trying to convince him to be honest with Grace, no matter the degree of pain it would mean then. The fine sheet of paper seemed to become thicker and thicker as the seconds were flying away above my head and I walked absent-mindedly to my suite in order to get prepared for Karen's wedding. I opened the door and she looked up at me, a veil of embarrassment and shyness on her features. She stood up and twisted her hands nervously over her white dress; her lips were moving fast but no sound came to them.

"You're beautiful."

A pale smile stopped by her face and she made a step forward. I didn't realize the consequence of her gesture. I simply saw her hand got lifted in the air before landing with grace on the desk but the weight of her body faced a sliding surface and it fell down at her feet, wide opened.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She leaned over and grabbed the notebook; then froze when her hazel eyes made connection with the pictures. She went through it slowly, her fingers shaking uncontrollably as the realization of the terrible truth invaded her panicked features. And I stayed there, unable to move; looking at her like hypnotized by the revelation of my biggest secret, the cries of my heart. A couple of minutes passed by but they tasted of eternity and I was sure my heart would stop beating as she finally looked up at me in disbelief. She wasn't scared but lost in confusion, so pale. She shook her head and frowned, obviously fighting with the words so that they may come to her lips and put an end to that disturbing silence but she only managed to frown, her eyes sparkling under a veil of tears.

"I love you."

My voice had been stifled by the shame of my soul and the imminent regret of such declaration. She vaguely gasped, swallowing back a scream; then walked slowly to the door. The notebook slid off of her hands, caressed her wedding dress and landed loudly on the floor. She grabbed the handle and disappeared in the corridor. Life seemed to have got suspended and if it weren't for the permanent murmur of the slot machines in the background, I would have sworn I had stopped living.

Does it not sound logical, then? I had to do it. I couldn't but do what I did.


	8. Saving or letting go

**_Me_**

**_I'll take her laughter and her tears_**

**_And make them all my souvenirs_**

**_For where she goes I've got to be_**

A year and a half had passed by since the night she had left me alone in bed, rushed outside and vanished through the streets of New York, trying to escape from her feelings; or just from mine. I wish they had been hers for embracing then the soft shapes of some happy end. Perhaps we should have talked about it instead of keep on pretending that nothing had happened. At least it would have been clear, no matter the final decision we would have taken. She would have shaken her head then turned her back at me and even though I wouldn't have been able to forget the slightest thing, I would have accepted it and begun a new page of my existence; far from Karen, so close to her image I had fallen for. Who would have cared if I had chosen to live contemplating my past? As long as we're quiet, people stay silent about our choices. It's all about delicacy, like the perfect curves of her lips and the warmness of her hands on me. She could have smiled too, then rushed into my arms and we would be so happy now; together. I wouldn't have hurt Vince and even less started my notebook. She wouldn't have found about it at the worst moment of her life when doubts were getting mixed with fears for the engagement she was about to take.

But it didn't happen like that and I found myself alone, one more time, staring blankly at the door she had slowly closed behind her while leaving my suite in Vegas, confused and shocked.

Time speeded up and the ceremony approached. For a couple of minutes I felt the urge to pack my things and go away but the bright sincerity of her eyes came back to me through a melancholic whirl. She may have nodded to Lyle's whims but she still had some feelings and I knew she needed me here; in spite of all. The air was hot, almost suffocating when I reached the slot machine floor and the constant ringing of the coins falling down against a metallic support seemed to press on my ears and burn my heart. The guests were already there, so was Lyle Finster. I sat on one of the last benches left, my heart beating too loud for some anxious reasons. I had spoiled everything through a couple of words. I would have never imagined it could be, that vocabulary was so dangerous and strong but then I realized that it hurt a lot more than a physical gesture because it remained engraved in our souls then; unforgettable injury, ridiculous excuse for being alive and daring to act. All of a sudden I caught his gaze. Oh God, Grace… I had almost forgotten her in the middle of the little tragedy playing in my head. I opened my mouth to speak to Leo but he was way too far to start such intimate conversation so I simply frowned and interrogated his gaze but very soon he turned around and I looked down. After all who was I to judge his demeanor? I didn't have more success in my own life.

My throat began to sore and I swallowed back my pain, clenching my fists, trying to concentrate on some superficial aspect of the room; the flowers, the chairs, anything that would keep me away from Karen. But it didn't work at all and so I left. My feet led me among the crowd of strangers losing money in a motion of breathing but nothing sounded right there. I was wandering through the symbol of vice and anonymity while I was looking for my real identity. I heard the wedding march in the background and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in disbelief. Karen would definitely always surprise me for her unexpected choices. And then I stopped, focalizing on my thoughts and the cries of my soul. I needed her to go on, no matter it would just be a friendship, an odd one but which uniqueness would never be able to get substituted. I arrived at the doors breathless, leaning against the golden frame just in time to see her back and the line of her ankles; the delicacy of this nape I had thought mine, once.

She had tied up her hair. I love when she does and the little strands that caress her skin make her shiver in a lovely motion of grace. She didn't look fragile but full of this self-confidence that sounded so wrong to me, so false. She seemed to be serene and Lord knows how she was fighting to keep a straight face in spite of the fire of feelings running in her veins, probably making her heart suffer.

"Karen Walker, would you like to…"

The priest's voice faded away, buried by the loud screams of my pain. The end was there, our end; if only there was actually a beginning to speak about. But a sudden brouhaha coming from the guests made me look up, confused. All the gazes were turned towards Karen who hadn't answered yet. What was she waiting for? I stood up firmly on my feet, intrigued by this weird behavior and plunged in the state of confusion like all the rest of the people there. She turned her face to Lyle and stared at him as if she were looking in his features the reason of her silence but then her hazel eyes looked down at the marble ground. She seemed to be so small at the altar, holding ridiculously a bouquet of lilies and roses. It was so evident she had nothing to do with the entire scene.

I don't know why her hazel eyes began to scan the benches with an ounce of fears and a ton of insecurities weighing on the awkward movement. I guess she stopped breathing when our gazes crossed each other's. It probably didn't last more than a few seconds but I felt like time had been suspended and the loud beats of our respective hearts were covering the noise of the slot machines in the background and players' laughter, their tears. Her lips started shaking as a fine line of pain stopped by her forehead, distorting the usual grace of her face. She shook her head at me and swallowed back the cries that were only asking for running on her cheeks; then murmured to herself, to Lyle, to the guests, to me. Nobody knew.

"I can't."

My brown eyes slowly slid from her face to the ground, vaguely noticing her curves underneath her white dress and I jumped under the gasps; then looked up as the clicking of a pair of high heels resounded loud in the uncomfortable silence of the chapel. Lifting up her dress to prevent from falling, Karen left the altar and ran to me. For the second time in my life she rushed into my arms, grabbed my neck and captured my lips. But there was nothing hungry in this kiss; it was just sweet and desperate; needed. However I have to confess it also tasted of her tears, without any regret though. We broke apart and she locked her eyes with mine, smiling brightly under her uncontrollable cries.

No, there was no regret; just hopes for a better life to her side.

This is how it all started, at least publically. Five years have passed by since Karen rushed in my arms in Las Vegas. We have never really broken apart since then. She may be exhausting sometimes and sounds as spoiled as a child, but I still need her laughter, her tears; the way she looks at me half-asleep when she wakes up in the morning, or our late-night kiss, so soft and quiet. I feel like I already know her by heart though there's still plenty of details left to be found out and they light up our days, feed my heart with joy and the chance to be in love. Because I do love her and she loves me too. She's the mother of my children, the reason why I'm still here today. I stopped looking at the past; I just became addicted to our present life.

You did it in an attempt of protection because you cared so much about her. Then you realized you couldn't live without being there, next to her. It was a dangerous game and while pretending you were dead, you ended up losing her. It's too late, Stanley. I'm sorry for you. It's all over. I didn't let her go for dreading the situation you're facing now. She's the reason of my life, the only one. I didn't steal her from you. She just embraced my heart and I abdicated. That's why I told her about my feelings; that's why I did it.

You ruined your chance with her, Stanley. I saved mine.

**_The meaning of my life is_**

**_She, oh she_**


End file.
